On Her Papa's Knee

This is a story I recently read, and it really touched me.  The setting is about fifteen or so years before the civil war in Virginia.  Mr. Dinsmore is a pious, wealthy southern gentleman who lives with his only daughter, Elsie, who is about 9 or 10.

On Her Papa's Knee

by Martha Finley

excerpt from Elsie's Holidays at Roselands*

           

            "Massa, dere's a gentleman wants to speak to you," said a servant, looking in at the study door one afternoon a few days before Christmas.

            "Very well, John, show him into the library, and I will be there in a moment," replied Mr. Dinsmore, putting down his book.

            He glanced at Elsie's little figure, half buried in the cushions of a great easy-chair near one of the windows, into which she had climbed more than an hour before, and where she had been sitting ever since, completely lost to all that might be going on around her, in the deep interest with which she was following the adventures of FitzJames in Scott's Lady of the Lake.

            "Daughter, I am afraid you are reading more today than is quite good for you," he said, looking at his watch.  "You must put up your book very soon now, and go out for a walk.  I shall probably be down in ten or fifteen minutes, but if I am not, you must not wait for me, but take Aunt Chloe with you."

            "Yes, papa," she replied, looking up from her book for an instant, and then returning to it again as he left the room.

            She had not the least intention of disobeying, but soon forgot everything else in the interest of her story. 

            The stranger detained Mr. Dinsmore much longer than he had expected, and the short winter day was drawing rapidly to a close when he returned to his study, to find Elsie—much to his surprise and displeasure—precisely where he had left her. 

            She was not aware of his entrance until he was close beside her, then, looking up with a start, she colored violently.

            He gently took the book from her hand and laid it away, then, lifting her from the chair, led her across the room, where he seated himself upon the sofa, and drawing her in between his knees, regarded her with a look of grave, sad displeasure.

            "Has my little daughter any idea how long it is since her father bade her put up her book?" he asked in a gently reproving tone.

            Elsie hung her head in silence, and a tear rolled quickly down her burning cheek.

            "It grieves me very much," he said, "to find that my little girl can be so disobedient!  It almost makes me fear that she does not love me very much."

            "Oh, papa, don't!  Oh, don't say that!  I can't bear to hear it!" she cried, bursting into an agony of tears and sobs, and hiding her face on his breast.  "I do love you very much, papa, and I can't bear to think I've grieved you," she sobbed.  "I know I am very naughty, and deserve to be punished—but I didn't mean to disobey, only the book was so interesting I didn’t know at all how the time went."

            He sighed, but said nothing, only drew her closer to him, putting his arm around her, and stroking her hair in a gentle, caressing way.

            There was no sound for some moments but Elsie's sobs.

            Then she asked in a half whisper, "Are you going to punish me, papa?"

            "I shall take the book from you for a few days.  I hope that will be punishment enough to make you pay better attention to my commands in future," he said very gravely.

            "Dear papa, how kind you are!  I am sure I deserve a great deal worse punishment than that," she exclaimed, raising her head and looking up gratefully and lovingly into his face, "but I am very, very sorry for my disobedience.  Will you please forgive me?"

            "I will, daughter," and he bent down and kissed her lips.

            "Now go," he said, "and get your cloak and hood.  I think we will still have time for a little stroll through the grounds before dark."

            Elsie had very little to say during their walk, but moved silently along by her father's side, with her hand clasped in his, and he, too, seemed unusually abstracted.

            It was quite dark when they entered the house again, and when the little girl returned to the study, after Chloe had taken off her wrappings, she found her father seated in an easy-chair, drawn up on one side of a bright wood fire that was blazing and crackling on the hearth.

            Elsie dearly loved the twilight hour, and it was one of her greatest pleasures to climb upon her father's knee and sit there talking or singing, or perhaps, oftener, just laying her head down on his breast and watching the play of the fire-light on the carpet, or the leaping of the flames hither and thither.

            Mr. Dinsmore sat leaning back in his chair, apparently in deep thought, and did not hear Elsie's light step.

            She paused for one instant in the doorway, casting a wistful, longing look at him, then, with a little sigh, walked softly to the other side of the fire-place, and seated herself in her little rocking-chair.

            For several minutes she sat very quietly gazing into the fire, her little face wearing a very sober, thoughtful look.  But she was startled out of her reverie by the sound of her father's voice.

            "Why am I not to have my little girl on my knee tonight?" he was asking.

            She rose instantly, in a quick, eager way, and ran to him. 

            "If you prefer the rocking-chair, stay there, by all means," he said.

             But she had already climbed to her accustomed seat, and, twining her arms around his neck, she laid her cheek to his, saying, "No, indeed, papa; you know I don't like the rocking chair half so well as your knee; so please let me stay here."

            "Why did you not come at first, then?" he asked in a playful tone.

            "Because I was afraid, papa," she whispered.

            "Afraid!" he repeated, with an accent of surprise, and looking as if he felt a little hurt.

            "Yes, papa," she answered in a low tone, "because I have been so naughty this afternoon, that I know I don't deserve to come."

            "Did you not hear me say I forgave you?" he asked.

            "Yes, papa."

            "Very well, then, if you are forgiven you are taken back into favor, just as if you had not transgressed, and if you had quite believed me, you would have come to me at once, and claimed a daughter's privilege, as usual," he said very gravely.

            "I do believe you, papa.  I know you always speak the truth and mean just what you say," she replied in half-tearful tones, "but I know I don't deserve a place on your knee tonight."

            "What you deserve is not the question at present. We are talking about what you can have, whether you deserve it or not.

            "Ah!" he continued in a low, musing tone, more as if thinking aloud than speaking to her.  "Just so it is with us in all reference to our Heavenly Father's forgiveness.  When he offers us a full and free pardon of all our offenses, and adoption into his family, we don't more than half believe him, but still go about groaning under the burden of our sins, and afraid to claim the privileges of children.

            "It hurts and displeases me when my child doubts my word, and yet how often I dishonor my Father by doubting his.  'He that believeth not God, maketh him a liar.'  'Without faith, it is impossible to please him.'"

            He relapsed into silence, and for some moments neither of them spoke.

            He was passing his hand caressingly over her hair, and she resting in his arms and gazing thoughtfully into the fire.

© 1997 Holly Hall Publications (original ©1868)

Elkton, MD

pp. 218-222